The Art of Failure

You never see anyone bragging about their failures on facebook, confidently asserting their rejected job applications on their CV's or framing photos which celebrate their most humiliating moments. Failure and rejection is harrowing, it makes even the toughest of souls shrivel into a dark hole in the ground.  And yet our failures are frequently the very same experiences, moments and events that shape who and what we are more than any others. 

We all know of JK Rowling's rags to riches story; at the bottom of the barrel at 30 she goes on to become the most successful author of all time.  She's not alone: Walt Disney was fired for having no imagination and his first company went bankrupt;  Einstein couldn't speak before he was nine and was expelled from school for poor behaviour;  Bill Gates dropped out of Harvard;  Thomas Eddison couldn't keep a job; Oprah Winfrey was told she was too emotive for TV; Michael Jordan missed the hoop 9,000 times.  The list of uninspiring stories goes on and on...  

Why is it that failures and rejections are only mentioned after the person becomes wildly successful? People face failure and rejection every single day and it never makes the news, the facebook feed or the history books.  Failure is absorbed silently by the individual and we often try to pretend it never happened. We stop opening up, are less likely to express our opinions, apply for the next job or organize another event because of our fear of rejection.  We retreat, safe in the knowledge that if we don't try, we won't fail. 

But the older we get, the more we wish we had tried, that we had taken the risks and were more fearless and resilient.  The truth is, (unless you have wildly controlling parents) no one really gives a damn about your failures or your successes and the most you have to lose is your pride.  

Tall poppy syndrome (the idea that tall poppies must be cut down to size) is a wide-spread cultural disease in New Zealand. We are programmed not to try out for sports teams unless we're likely to make the top grade and are not encouraged to do theatre unless we have a shot at the main part. When I was younger, the fear of failure and rejection was often more restrictive than the failure itself. I never applied for scholarships and almost didn't even apply for university.  I never applied for a single clerkship, internship or to volunteer abroad. Even when opportunities were everywhere, I convinced myself that I wasn't eligible to apply unless I was personally tapped on the shoulder.  In hindsight, this was a ludicrous position for me to take.  We really are our own worst enemies.

It took a pretty massive intervention to change the way I thought.  It was only during an extended period of vagabonding that I got some perspective and realized that life is what you make of it, carpe diem and all that.  I decided to apply to do my masters at the LSE and was consequently devastated when I was rejected. Failure can be debilitating, when I was 17 and failed my driver's licence I was an inconsolable wreck.  But for whatever reason, this time I became determined rather than desolate. After a year of honest reflection and self-improvement I tried again.

The way I see it, it's not the eventual success which makes us, but how we manage failure and rejection.  When hitting your head on a brick wall you have two options - the first (and most popular choice) is to stop and just walk away.  The second, (and more difficult option) is to step back from the wall, examine it's construction and devise a method to scale it or bring it down.  I admit that the first option is a more "zen" approach and there will be plenty of times when walking away is an appropriate course (and indeed an important countervailing lesson!).  But when that damn wall needs to go, it's just gotta go.

So what can we do to conquer our debilitating fear of rejection? One school of thought suggests that you can train yourself to handle rejection and failure better by regularly exposing yourself to situations where you're guaranteed to fail - literally seeking situations where it is impossible to succeed so you develop an immunity.  Then when it really matters, you won't care because you fail all the time.  Flood your life with little failures and smash the tyranny of fear.  

Let's face it, it's hard to beat a person that doesn't give up.

My Guilty Online Pleasure

Today, I took a moment to meditate on the internet, and more specifically what we actually use the internet for. So I asked myself the crucial question "Self, what is it exactly that you enjoy doing online?" My response exposes an indulgent, shameful habit which I've decided to share with the entire world.

My guilty pleasure is that I enjoy reading weird science articles, watching videos about cats and doing quizzes that tell you which character you would be on Orange is the New Black which, by the way, I have never seen (I got Piper Chapman).  It's an appalling abuse of one of mankind's most advanced and treasured resources.

Imagine you met someone from 300 years ago and explained to them that we have a small device that fits in the palm of your hand with access to all the world's knowledge, history, languages, art, law and science.  "That's pretty amazing!" they would say "and how do you use it?"

"I watch cat videos and scroll mindlessly through a newsfeed which contains personal stories/photos and anecdotes of people I have little to no real interaction with."

"Tell me more about these cat videos" they would probably say in return.

But could the person of the past possibly understand how important that irrelevant and ridiculous time wasting is?  Would they have any inkling that we have come to use this pointless, hollow, mundane and absurd activity as a cathartic means of winding down?

With no phones, no internet, restricted access to transport, a low literacy rate and little civil liberties, it's hard to imagine what people did in the olde days to relax.  In 1815 you would probably go for a walk, stagger into a pub and drink yourself into a stupor after working 16 hours straight in a mine.  Or maybe you would stay at home in your dark, unsanitised hovel doing cross-stitch by the light of a single candle and caring for your 4 unschooled children.  Sounds great.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think that scrolling through the top 26 images of what it means to "Grow Up Asian in America" is any substitute to having a life.  But when things are fast-paced, a tad on the intense side or you're drowning in indecision and need some mindless stimulation then yes, I would recommend turning your favourite photos into fridge magnets, memorizing the top 37 most important life hacks or reading any pointless, though insightful, pseudo-scientific article on IFL.   Nothing de-stresses me more than reading about the psychological benefits of watching cat videos online, the mysteries of calcified fetuses, learning why joints click or, dammit, just staring vacantly at the newly rediscovered planet of Pluto and it's lovely, smiling face.

The truth is, I enjoy scrolling through this stuff at the end of a stressful day.  The more heavy a week is in the "real world" the more I enjoy a good TedTalk on the importance of sustainable fish farming in Spain (which, by the way, is a revelation).  This doesn't mean I'm less involved in a community, lack physical exercise or fail to engage in the world around me.  All it means is that I like to watch stupid videos of cats on the bus.  I'm ok with that.

Confessions and Lessons from LSE

It was not easy to get an accurate idea of what it would be like at the London School of Economics. The only thing I was certain of was that it was going to be an experience which would broaden my perspective and, fingers-crossed, my employment horizons. Whilst both those things were absolutely true, it was the unexpected lessons and experiences outside the classroom which I grew from the most.  This post is written for my younger self who was woefully under-prepared for what was to be a very challenging albeit very rewarding year.  

The Greenhouse Effect

In a class of 280 students there were around 60 nations represented from Iceland to Azerbaijan, Japan through to Kuwait - it was almost like being at the UN. Nations with large delegations tended to congeal into homogeneous groupings and throughout the year seemed to grow into their national stereotypes (warning: gross generalisations follow). 

The Frenchies, with a penchant for striped shirts, were an amicable bunch.  No matter how stressed, they were always charming and good-natured - "I 'ave two exams today so I'm going to play some squash, 'ave a nap and zen I'll see 'ow it goes".  When I asked how they managed to remain so effortlessly cool I was told that "you just need to give less of a sheet about zings, zat's ze secret to 'appiness".  It was a lesson I would hear a few times that year and, as a philosophy for survival, I think they might be on to something.

In contrast, Ze Tchermans took everything seriously- they were always well-presented in their freshly laundered shirts and leather satchels.  Despite already having several postgraduate degrees a piece, it would seem that an LLM from the UK was highly prized by German law firms who went to extravagant lengths to seduce the German cohort including; cocktails at the London Eye before a three star dining experience and a weekend in the Cotswolds complete with clay pigeon shooting and fireside tipples. For the most part, they had a tendency to be quite critical. On more than one occasion I was confronted with "this didn't work so well because of that" or the subtle "you're wrong and here's why".  To be fair, they were just as brutal on themselves and I suspect it's a side-effect of Germany's unforgiving legal education system.

There were large groups of Belgians, Greeks, Indians and Brazilians too and a hundred thousand Chinese students who generally studied the most commercially viable subjects. If China takes over the world there might not be jurisprudence but at least we will have an impeccable financial structure.

There were also a surprising volume of multi-citizenship combos; Belgian/Taiwanese; Italian/Brazilian, Australian/Lebanese and that classic Swiss/Welsch duo. Their enviable ability to flit seamlessly between languages and cultures complimented their broad and interesting global attitudes. Others were even more curious characters. On my first day, I remember meeting someone dressed like an 18th Century peasant - complete with rope belt, oiled beard and floppy brown felt hat. I'm still not sure whether this was national dress, a hipster-chic fashion statement or an ardent expression of Marxism. The student body was certainly a rich cultural tapestry.

The compact nature of the campus, covering just a square kilometer, meant that we basically lived on top of each other. Friendships and rivalries developed quickly like greenhouse tomatoes, which made for a very heated and stressful environment at times. In some ways it was exactly like high school, except a high school filled with competitive multilingual geniuses. I was grateful when awe of my colleagues faded to a healthy disillusionment but early on, I felt like a complete fraud and it took me a while to find my own groove.

Work hard, play hard, sleep optional

The LSE lifestyle was a physical, mental and emotional endurance test that carried on outside of the classroom and library through an endless series of combative discourses with peers.  I have a fond memory of dancing in a club at 2 am whilst debating critical legal theory with Avicii blaring "wake me up when it's all over" above our heads.  I also remember sneaking around a Royal Lodge in the Grounds of Windsor Castle late at night, sipping from hipflasks and assessing the merits of the motion "what's the point of Belgium".  Like I said, we were a curious bunch.

If you didn't live in the heart of London, it was a very good idea to make friends with those who did.  Living 7km from campus in Greenwich, in the dreaded "zone 2", meant that getting home after midnight was always an adventure - it might as well have been Mongolia. London taxis were a luxury beyond my financial means so beyond the witching hour I had to either face the night bus along with its treacherous interchange at Elephant and Castle - aka "stab central" - or beg some floorspace from the generosity of my colleagues, almost all of whom lived in tiny one bed hostel rooms near campus. One night at 4am, I recall sitting on the floor of a friend's apartment, sharing Maccas and simultaneously laughing at myself whilst drunkenly sobbing "there's just no room for judicial review!" There was a brilliant legal epiphany had that night though I can't for the life of me remember what it was.

Shanti and Shakti

I threw myself at the program with a fervent zeal and a personal challenge to meet everyone, sign up to everything and expose myself to all that LSE has to offer.  This peppy participation turned out to be both a very good and a very bad idea. My extracurricular activities were much more time consuming than expected. Coupling that with the academic challenges, some hefty financial stress and the physiological effects of three winters in a row, ensured that the first semester really took its toll on my wellbeing.

So I learned the hard way where my limitations lay and when it's appropriate to break them.  If you go too fast you won't reach a mythical sixth gear, you'll just hit a wall and crumble into a small heap, which is a rather difficult place to look dignified from.  

After one such episode, I received some valuable wisdom from a friend. She made me a gift of two Hindi words: "Shanti" (meaning peace) and "Shakti" (meaning strength) and suggested that I use them as a sort of mantra. "Peace" came to mean kindness to myself and tolerance toward others and "strength" was a reminder that sometimes you just need to swallow some rocks and harden up.  All in all, my time at LSE was an important and much needed lesson in self-preservation.

The Joy of Hindsight

LSE students are taught to live by the motto rerum cognoscere causa (know the cause of things). For me, this meant not only deconstructing the world around me but an intrusive deconstruction of myself.  I suspect that this aspect of my experience was fairly universal. When the jigsaw was put back together, the picture was quite different from when I started.  In hindsight, that was a good thing.  

If I have one piece of advice for my younger self it would simply be this: Pace yourself and enjoy the ride. It won't always be easy but it will be worth it. Bonne Chance! Viel Erfolg! and Break a Leg! (you're gonna need it).

Human Rights - Failure or Forgotten Revolution?

I get it. Talking about systemic failure isn't sexy. People want someone to point their finger at and say "you're the reason why this has happened". Be it fears of rising house prices, the Greek debt crisis or an environmental disaster, people want someone to blame. Saying "perhaps there is something about our system which is causing these problems" is a big turn off - it's an unrealistic criticism because no one wants to contemplate that the problems can't simply be cut out, like a tumor.  

Human Rights are wonderful things, the vision of human rights represents the very best of humanity. In the wake of the atrocities of WW2, a broken and frail world said "never again". We wrote our ideas down and we talked about it. We've been writing about it and talking about it ever since. But writing about it and talking about it didn't stop the acts of genocide and aggression that have come since or the arbitrary detention of asylum seekers and their children or the environmental devastation of communities living under the shadow of transnational corporations. Are we blind to the flaws of a system which allows the worst offenders to slip through the cracks? We need to be critical about the system of international human rights if we are to find a solution that truly protects the individual from the exercise of arbitrary power and abuse.  Anything less, is a band aid approach at best, a talk fest at worst.

It’s 2015, most of the major human rights treaties have been ratified by the vast majority of countries. And yet, it is hard to argue that human rights are a global success.  Let’s examine the state of affairs:

• Women still lack equality and political and religious freedoms are restricted in China and much of the Arab World;
• Political authoritarianism has gained ground in Russia, Central Asia and parts of Latin America;
• Europe’s strength as a bastion of human rights has floundered.  It has turned inward as it has struggled with debt crisis, xenophobia and disillusionment with Strasbourg and Brussels.
• The United States, still carries out the death penalty, exercises torture and arbitrary detention in the wake of 9/11.  It also continues to kill civilians with drone strikes.  
• Slavery and the trafficking of human lives continues to flourish worldwide.

Surely the vision of international human rights wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

In this light, international human rights are looking more and more like simple acts of hubris. The reality is international human rights ("IHR") wrestle with legitimacy because of problems with enforcement and inconsistency of interpretation. What is left is simply a language of IHR- words we like to say and hear. But since when did the language of IHR become so non-committal and timid?  Engaging in IHR these days has come to mean translating what were calls for recognition, or respect, or dignity, into "mechanisms", "structures" and “accountability feedback loops”. A language riddled with terms and definitions that is comically far from the humanity and the suffering we were supposed to be addressing.  A language which has clearly toxified the hopes and ambition of States in the wake of the atrocities of WW2. 

Why has international human rights reached this ambiguous place? The answer can be found in its genesis. Human rights are a fragment of public international law, a system whose sole members are states and not individuals (or companies for that matter).  The fundamental cornerstone of this system is sovereignty. And really, "sovereignty" is just a fancy legal term for saying “mind your own business” when one state wants to complain about what another state is up to or how it is treating its citizens. There is no international forum for victims to bring their claims and if the local courts are corrupt, well then that's just too bad. You see, human rights exist in a system geared against their success; sovereignty is not only the nemesis of human rights but is like Goliath to David - except without the bit where David somehow miraculously wins with just one throw of his stone.

Have human rights failed us? Well, I think it really depends on who you are and where you are in the world. If you were to look down from wherever you are on Mount Privilege you might see that a radically different approach to IHR is clearly long overdue. Being complacent (it's the best we've got) wistful (human rights just need more time to grow) or unyieldingly cynical (money and warheads are the only laws in this world) will not bring relief. We need to stop shrugging off the burden of upholding human rights onto bureaucrats and we certainly need to stop assuming that the powers-that-be are doing a good job of maintaining human rights behind closed doors. The problems are systemic which mean they start at the very bottom and are riddled all the way to the very top. 

We can't keep crying "never again" every time an international humanitarian crisis crops up and all the while sit there wringing our hands, hoping for a system which offers resolution. Wanting and hoping that the IHR system will come of age or change on its own volition will not offer remedy to those who need it most. We need to stay critical and vigilant of the systems around us - be conscious consumers, dedicated voters and vocal supporters of our rights and the rights of others. The battle for human rights, was not won 60 years ago, it had only just begun.

It's not about the F-ing Flag

Few people seem to realise that there is very little significance behind the current NZ flag - it was simply adopted as a war propaganda tool in 1902.  We even fly and get teary over a completely different flag when it comes to sporting events - you will be familiar with the iconic silver fern.

Changing the flag has been on the agenda for more than a hundred years.  Finally, it is going to referendum.  

The leading arguments against a change include: "why change what's not broken", and "but it's part of our historical tie with Britain" and "we should be spending our money on things that really matter - like hospitals". 

True, true, true.  We should be spending all the surplus money we have on hospitals. In fact, we should probably lift taxes so that we have more money to spend on hospitals. We shouldn't rest until there is no more money left to spend on the hospitals and we live in a perfect world of perfect hospitals.  

In case you didn't catch it, that last paragraph was riddled with sarcasm.

There are some things which are as important to our society as public health care. These "things" are not tangible things at all but complex values which form the bedrock of our national identity.

The flag that we choose - that flailing rectangular piece of cloth that dangles in the breeze- matters. It really matters. It stands for who we are as a people and is our face to the rest of the world. Are we colonial remnants of a once vast (but now non existent) British Empire? An empire responsible for some pretty awful things.  Or are we a proud, independent South Pacific nation? A modern State that started as a union of two peoples but has now grown to encompass many more.

When I look at the current flag I see the Union Jack domineering and omnipresent. Which was a pretty good metaphor for life at the start of the 20th century but times have changed and so have we.  Colonial Britain will always be part of our history but does that mean it ought to be part of our future?  How can we transcend the old conflicts of "Maori" v "The Crown" with a flag that does not symbolise unity and reconciliation? 

There is another argument that generations of kiwis have fought and died under the current flag and changing would be disrespectful to their sacrifice. That may be true, but it is also true that it's the silver fern which appears on foreign graves of New Zealand soldiers from WW1 to the present day.

This flag debate isn't about abandoning our history. It's about embracing who we are and celebrating it with a symbol - a single icon that New Zealanders have chosen to represent us. 

And what about the cost?  The facts are these- it costs 5.60NZD per person.  That's not even the price of lunch.  That's a pretty good deal. 5.60 and you get to change history. 5.60 and you get to say to your grandchildren that you were part of the generation that finally turned their backs on the dredges of colonialism and turned to face a new and brighter future.  5.60 for the price of your national identity, not some borrowed and tainted identity of a by-gone era.

So please, change the flag. I don't care what design you pick.  Pick the one with the kiwi in a spaceship for all I care but please just change it to one that is ours.  No more flailing about, this stuff really matters.

 (for details on how the process is going to work read here).

Drop Everything and Just Go!

There comes a time in each chapter of our lives where the winds of change start to blow.  It starts like a gentle breeze, barely audible and grows to a whisper.  If you ignore it, it only gains momentum until it's a roaring tempest that threatens to dislodge your footing on reality.  Denying this wind even for a short period, leads to frustration and disillusionment. But if you give it rein, as scary as that may sound, it can take you to a place where time is suspended and you arrive in the mythical lands of "Self Awarenessville" and "Perspectivia".

I believe that these journeys, suspended in place and time, also more commonly known as "sabbaticals", are essential in the world we live in for the ability to breath, to develop and to  discern the things that really matter from the things (places and people) that don't.  That's also what separates a sabbatical from a mere vacation.  There is no going back after a sabbatical. It's not a time out, rather it marks the beginning of a new chapter.

When people take this time (and few do) it is usually only once in their lives - after school or uni and before starting "a real job". But it baffles me why the value of doing it at other points in our lives is not also universally recognised.  I once saw a Ted Talk by a Dutch advertiser who argued that we should retire 7 years later and instead disperse those 7 years throughout our lives as sabbaticals.  He argued that the sabbatical was essential for him and his staff to get perspective on their personal lives and to have the freedom to develop professionally.  It was his firm view that it made one more productive, more balanced and happier.  I couldn't agree with him more.

Some businesses/institutions and firms have designated sabbatical programs.  But if they don't or won't engage in the discussion, just leave.  Seriously, you will find another job, you will come back motivated and focused and it's likely you will be more employable than when you left.  It's a leap of faith but at the end of the day, you don't get to do this life again and I doubt you will remember all those long days spent in the office on your death bed.  Of course, it's also a myth that you can't be productive during a sabbatical - you can study abroad, volunteer or even work teaching English (or whatever language you want the world to speak).  But whatever it is, I assure you, your life will be better for it.

There are always a thousand excuses as to why you can't do a sabbatical and I can imagine some extreme cases where saying "just go" is just not possible - crippling disabilities, illness and extreme poverty.  But, on the balance of probabilities, if you're reading this post then it's unlikely those circumstances apply to you (though one day might!).  Your big excuse is more likely to be - I'm scared to leave my job, I don't have enough savings and I have children.   Having already addressed the first (leap of faith) and the second (work/study on your time abroad) let me turn to the third.

In 2011, Thomas (husband) and I dropped our lives in NZ, sold everything and flew to Europe.  We bought a beat up old camper-van (which we rechristened the Rendeavour) with the intention of spending an indefinite period of time vagabonding across the European continent with no agenda, no bucket list and very little money.  We ended up doing this for 6 months and our lives have never been the same since.  The clarity, energy and direction we found on that trip is still sustaining us to this day - it has led to post graduate study, changes in our careers and lives that spread across three countries.  But what we also learned during this trip is that this style of travel would have been (mostly) possible with small children too.  Of course, without children, this is all speculation.  But not for long.

You see, I don't have a concrete example yet to disprove the myth that you can't sabbatical with kids. However, today two (and a half) bold and courageous friends of ours are taking us up on this challenge.  They have dropped their lives and are taking their 1 year old to Europe to vagabond for 5 months.  I'm so grateful for their courage and for their voracity and I wish them the very best of luck in their pioneering journey! Without a doubt, it will be all those little family moments and experiences - swimming in a pristine mountain stream, eating gelato in a sun-drenched piazza or hiking over some ancient Roman aqueduct - that will make the hellish 50 hour flight and airport transition time worthwhile! (Or at least, that's what I've told them). 

My point? It can be neatly summarised by two adages:

1. Life is not rehearsal; and

2. Fortune favours the bold.

Whatever you're waiting for, drop everything and just go

The UK Leadership Deficit

If you've lived in, are living in or have friends in the UK it's almost impossible that you would have missed that the elections just took place.  But like me, you probably didn't pay very much attention because it wasn't very interesting.

On Facebook, I wrote a status encouraging people to vote, I wasn't espousing any particular party, I just strongly believe that everyone should excercise their democratic right.  Democracy was a hard earned prize, (even harder earned for some of us than others!) and apathy or complacency is a poor thanks to that institution.  One friend wrote in reply to my status that the top UK Google search was "who should I vote for".  He then commented that this was an indication that democracy was in a very poor state indeed.  Which got me thinking...

What is it about this particular election that was so uninspiring?  Why did voters turn to google for answers that should have been annunciated through the rhetoric of the candidates?

Cameron and Milliband are two of the more flacid candidates to ever grace the British poltical stage. Shrunken and awkward they are the product of British factories of political candidates (aka Oxford and the London School of Economics).  The centre right and centre left parties have congealed together into a tolerant moderatism.  A taupe-beige melange that inspires nobody and is destroying the Westiminster democracy like a slow and irreversible cancer. And I just keep asking myself, is it even possible to be a "centred politician" have a backbone and be a passionate leader?

When you get leadership candidates like Milliband and Cameron - you also get candidates like Nigel Farage.  Plenty of passion and backbone, articulate and quick with the statistics - he just also happens to come across as a rascist bigot. Winston Peters cloned and twenty years younger.

Boris Johson, the rightful heir to the throne (not literally) was bought off and tucked away as mayor of London so that he was not tempted to pursue national leadership. Perhaps his return heralds a new and glorious age. Perhaps.

The surprise card in this election was the SNP otherwise known as the Kilted Coup.  They are led by the dark horse on the UK leadership stage - she's intelligent, she's articulate and she's Scottish. Not Scottish in the Gordon Brown - bore you to death kind of way. But Scottish in the Braveheart "You can take my life, but you can never take my  freedom" kind of way. The problem being that this dynamic country "beyond the wall" is making a clear and coherrant case to be a different country. Nicola Sturgeon belongs to Scotland. Not Britain.

I don't think the problem here is voter apathy.  The problem is politicians who are refrained from expressing themselves, fail to inspire and apply this floppy handshake manner to every issue that crosses their desk.  I'm not advocating a shift away from moderate policies, but I am calling for the next generation of UK leaders to please stand up.

The time has come for the next Thatcher, Blair or Churchill.  The future of your country is at stake.